


He Hit Me (It Felt Like A Kiss)

by Eeveelivesprite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Cigarettes, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Feminization, Kink Shaming, M/M, Marijuana, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Poor Theon, Public Blow Jobs, Public Humiliation, Ramsay is his own warning, Religious Conflict, Slow Burn, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eeveelivesprite/pseuds/Eeveelivesprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was frankly, horrifically easy to see how some kids would take the old place and run wild with it, spreading stories of the young son inside, rumors of murder, his mother’s mysterious death. It was as if the house screams itself into horror stories by simply being, and so, it does.</p><p>Or, more simply, a High School AU where Theon goes in too far over his head, and Ramsay is amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Hit Me (It Felt Like A Kiss)

Every community has a house that all the kids think is haunted.

It’s all ridiculous of course, but Theon sees his neighborhood’s every morning, a horrific townhouse right across the street from his rundown apartment building. The windows are old and cracked, stained yellow, with relentlessly beaten wooden shutters, molding from years of rain damage. The first door has a broken lock with scuffs across the bottom, from years of intoxicated hands fumbling to key it open, and has since been boarded over, with strong wooden planks preventing anyone from passing through. Next to it, the second door boasts multiple steel bolts, as if the house needed more deterrence from trespassers, monstrous as it was. The new owners weren’t helping the place reach any high praise either. Below the doors, the porch is littered mad with loose boards that creak under the steps of the owner’s son every morning, a delinquent child to an aging and widowed father, or so he’s heard. He wears dark clothes with messy dark hair that accents, yet does not cover, his menacing grey-blue eyes, and walks with the posture of a young lord, head high and challenging. Inside, every morning, you can hear barking and feet padding as he lets out his massive dogs to wander off-leash throughout the yard, before stopping at the broken chain fence. Nearby, the mailbox stands, jutting out of the surface like the Tower of Pisa, rough and rusted metal with the handle torn off, fallen into disrepair, causing the thought to blossom in Theon’s head that perhaps, unsurprisingly, they don’t receive mail very often, or at least not yet.

It was frankly, horrifically easy to see how some kids would take the old place and run wild with it, spreading stories of the young son inside, rumors of murder, his mother’s mysterious death. It was as if the house screams itself into horror stories by simply being, and so, it does.

-

Theon sat next to his sister, silent in his father’s old beat-up pickup truck. It was eye-blindingly red, like a firetruck, and chipped horrendously in terrible spots. Theon hated it because it made them look poor. But they were poor, and he looked poor too, thus he hated himself as well.

Or, maybe not himself, but definitely the way he dressed.

The girls at North didn’t seem to care either way, to Theon’s credit. What he lacked in class he made up for looks, though admittedly, he didn’t have too much competition. Most of the students at North were as poor as he was, if not more so, and ugly too. Not Robb though, he had noticed. Robb with his perfect Stark face, perfect Stark family, he would always think, and then he thought of Jon as well, young freshman Jon, with his perfect half-brother. _He’s going to attract a lot of attention._ Theon thought idly. _He’ll probably have a new girl on his shoulder every week._

Sometimes Theon is sure he was meant to be a Stark, that Jon, that _bastard,_ stole away his perfect life out from under him just by being Ned’s son instead, but that didn’t make sense, Theon was way older than Jon anyways. So Theon pushed it back and bottled it up, like he did with everything. His mother. His siblings. The bruises hiding under the sleeves of his jacket. And he was fine.

Theon told himself he was fine as his father stopped in front of the school, rolling down his window to light a cigarette. Theon didn’t wait to be told to get out, he knew better by now. He threw open the door and jumped out, fixing his backpack over one arm as Asha stepped out next to him. He didn’t stop to talk to her, just barreled in through the double doors, and pushed his way through the crowd of freshmen in the office to get to his homeroom class.

His homeroom teacher was the same teacher he’d had last year, a science teacher he had for chemistry, now biology. He didn’t like Theon very much, but it was nothing new, male teachers almost never did. He took a seat in his old spot at the lab and looked around. The old room was filled with students at this point, chatting amongst themselves about their summers or boyfriends or whatever else. Burners and old chemicals were splayed across shelves, labels turned outwards with a few unreadable ones, worse for wear after years of classes. Plastic sheeted posters were hung around the room, attempting to motivate Theon with pictures of mountains or fields with captions like, “Guide and Lead Others! Be a Leader!”

Ugh. No thanks.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a student sitting alone on the other side of the room, far in the back. Theon vaguely recognized him, but couldn’t place where exactly he’d seen him. He didn’t know him from school, he was almost certain, because this kid was PRETTY. Pretty was such a rare description in his school that it meant something grand. He was focused on his paper and pencil, and after a while Theon realized he was drawing.

“Theon Greyjoy.”

Theon’s eyes shot up like lightning. He hadn’t even heard roll-call start. “Here.” Theon cursed himself as his voice cracked from lack of use. “Here, sir.” He tried again, stronger. When he turned back to the kid, he was looking up at Theon as well, almost curiously, all across his face, and they then locked eyes. Theon swallowed and smiled. He knew who this kid was now, no shadow of a doubt. He had just moved in about a month ago, into an old townhouse across from Theon’s apartment. Theon had seen him shamble about outside a few times, checking the mail, driving his car, letting his dogs outside, and other normal things. Theon had also heard plenty of NOT normal rumors about him in the halls of his apartment, ranging from terrifying to downright criminal. Though, looking at him now, they seemed ridiculous. Up closer he looked thin and frail, nobody capable of the rumors spat against him. Theon supposed it was because he was living in the allegedly “haunted” townhouse. He raised an eyebrow amusedly at Theon.

The teacher went through the list rather quickly, probably anxious for another cigarette, Theon could smell it on him from the moment he walked in, and soon he was almost at the end. “Jon Snow?”

Jon Snow? Theon broke from his staring contest with the guy and looked around before seeing Jon sitting with another freshman girl he didn’t know at the front of the room. How had he not noticed Jon walk in?

“Present.” Jon said, like an asshole, because he was an asshole. The teacher smiled and it made Theon sick to death. The teacher looked down to his clipboard again, he had called everyone but the boy sitting in the back, living in the haunted house. Theon realized at this point that he didn’t even know his name, and then further realized he was about to hear it anyways, so it didn't matter.

“Ramsay Snow?” Theon almost laughed. He had Jon’s last name? Amazing.

The boy, Ramsay, visibly tensed up, before setting down his pencil. “It’s Bolton.”

“Excuse m-“

“Bolton. My last name is Bolton.” Ramsay said, too sternly, and immediately an uncomfortable feeling swept over Theon, like he too suddenly took a breath and sucked up all the air in the room.

“Huh? Oh, sorry I misread. You must’ve joined this school late for them to throw you at the bottom of the list.” The teacher chuckled. “My bad.” Ramsay looked almost furious, before he smiled a too sharp smile, nodded, and then the teacher went on to explain the rest of the schedule. The uncomfortable feeling however, did not pass. It clung to Theon like dried blood until the bell rang and Theon darted out of the room that was swallowing him into the hallway.

Once Theon was out of the room, he decided it best to stand and wait for Jon. Yes, he hated Jon. He hated Jon more than anyone, but thought it better to talk to him now as opposed to later. As a better alternative to not getting shoved to the ground, he opted to holding the door open for people while he waited for Jon instead of standing around like an asshole. A few girls giggled and flirted with him as they left, ones he knew from last year before perfect Jon Snow came with his pressed shirts and skinny jeans. Theon watched as Ramsay walked out past him, muttering a small “Thank you, Theon.” for holding open the door, like he was trying out how the words sounded to him before brushing past Theon and striding down the hall.

Theon allowed himself a moment to watch him leave, and saw a few students move out of his way. Theon shook his head, the rumors had already started spreading around the school. Of course they had. Ramsay didn’t seem to mind though, and kept walking further away.

“Hey Theon!” Theon whipped his head around. “I wanted to say hi but then Ygritte wanted to talk and I, uh, but hey.” He knew the voice _before_ he whipped around, of course, he could never seem to fully ignore it, despite his countless attempts.

“Hey Jon. Finally made it to high school, huh?” Theon smiled as fake as he felt, but Jon beamed happily. “Be careful, tons of weirdos around here.”

“Like you?” Jon nudged him, jokingly. Theon knew Jon was right though, kidding or not. He let go of the door once the last student left, walking down the hall to his next class, and Jon fell into pace easily beside him.

“Worse if you can believe it, almost as bad as _you._ ” Then Jon laughed. Theon had known he would, and the sound gave him no comfort. It was unfair, hating Jon, but Theon did it anyways. He did it secretly though, behind tight-lipped smiles and passive-aggressive remarks. Somehow, miraculously, Jon either hadn’t caught on, or ignored it altogether.

“For real,” Jon smiled as soon as he laugher died down. “Did you see… what’s his name, uh, Gregor? That guy looked terrifying.” Theon chuckled a bit, he had a run in with “The Mountain” in freshman year, and ended up with a black eye and a few more bruises than normal. “Oh, and that Ramsay kid too, I heard he killed his brother, and then his mom to cover it up.”

“Wouldn’t he be in jail right now if he did?” Theon said too fast, leaving himself uncomfortable for jumping to Ramsay’s defense so quickly. He hadn’t even said a word to the guy.

“Maybe, I hear his father is rich. Some bigshot CEO, but they live in a shitty old house.” Jon paused. “If I had that kind of money, I’d buy a castle.” Then he moved on, to talking about castles and architecture, European history and how excited he was to take his classes, just like that, talk of Ramsay and Gregor and the other school outcasts was over. Theon was internally grateful, go far enough down that list and he knows his name pops up somewhere, he’s heard it himself on multiple occasions. Theon wasn’t exactly the best in terms of not starting fights with other students. Theon slowed down near a room about three halls over from his first class. “Why’d you stop?” Jon asked him, stopping as well.

Theon pointed to the door. “My class. See you around.” He then proceeded to fast-walk into the room before Jon could open his mouth again. Theon was never so happy to be rid of him.

-

The class went by fast enough for Theon, after the teacher called roll. Theon leaned down over his desk and slept until the bell rang for lunch. He wonders if the teacher noticed and ignored it, or was distracted enough not to. He honestly did not care either way. The previous few classes were similarly uninteresting, the usual roll call, class introductions, boring first day shit that Theon always despised. If his father hadn’t insisted on driving him here, he wouldn’t have gone at all. He saw Asha in the hall once, and proceeded to duck behind other students to avoid her. He didn’t hate her, but would rather not deal with the conflict if he ended up saying something stupid, which was far too often.

That was then, it was lunchtime now, about halfway over, and Theon still didn’t have any clue where to sit.

He tried to scout out the lunchroom for Robb, but couldn’t see him anywhere. His usual table had been taken up by some short blonde prick who stuffed his face with expensive foods he brought from home. Theon always hated rich kids, even Robb too, to an extent. He knew deep down it was just jealousy though. It didn’t matter.

“Hello, Theon? Mind if I sit with you for a moment?” Theon turned to acknowledge the voice with a swift “No thanks.”, but before he did, he paused. Oh. Him. He spoke much more professionally than Theon would’ve expected from a senior wearing a leather jacket and torn black jeans.

“Uh,” Theon started, gracefully. “Ramsay, right?”

Ramsay smiled, it was a warm and comforting smile, the exact opposite of what Theon had felt during class, when the teacher misread his name. “You remembered?” He sounded amused.

“You remembered _my_ name.” Theon countered, smiling back slightly, and that was it on that front. “Sure. If you can find us a place to sit.” Theon didn’t know why he said yes. He didn’t need more friends, he had Robb, and yet he accepted regardless. Theon didn’t understand himself sometimes. He tried to reason that it was because Ramsay was pretty. He probably wouldn’t be objected to having a fling with him one day, in fact, Theon was sure that if Ramsay was even a bit gay that he most definitely would. Theon thought about it for a second while studying Ramsay.  He tried to pull his mind away from Ramsay on his knees in Theon’s muggy bedroom in his shithole apartment before Ramsay graced him with a reply.

Ramsay looked around the room before settling his eyes back on Theon, and responding. “Okay. There.” He said, pointing at no particular direction, and instead opting to grab Theon’s wrist to drag him across the room to a table near the back, by the vending machines. Ramsay sat at the end of the table and looked at Theon expectantly, as Theon hesitantly sat down across from him.

“So, uh, why did you want to-“ Theon started before Ramsay interrupted.

“Does your father hit you?” Ramsay asked, his eyes bright as he leaned over the table, head in his hands.

“…What?” Theon squeaked out.

“It could’ve been a mother, or sibling I guess. Father seemed more likely. I see I was right.” Ramsay hummed like he solved a question in math, like he wasn’t being insensitive and fucking weird.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Theon nearly whispered.

“You have bruises, old and new, all over you.” Ramsay states, like it’s any other piece of information. What Ramsay doesn’t mention is how Theon’s head snaps up when someone calls him by name, how his nails are chewed obsessively, and how his eyes were still red from crying and smoking himself to sleep the night before.

“So… so what was your thought process here?” Theon let the anger slip into his voice, slowly, like venom, though he doesn’t raise it. Better not to garner attention. “Oh, that Greyjoy kid probably gets beat by his dad. Let’s corner him at lunch and see if I’m right.”

Ramsay raised an eyebrow, then laughed, a full laugh, and it oddly made Theon feel at home, whatever that meant. Theon loved his laugh and he hated that he loved it. “You’re very ridiculous if you think people think that way.” Ramsay laughed once more, and Theon didn’t see what was so funny. Afterwards, Ramsay shrugged and looked over at Theon again. “I know what it’s like, that’s all.”

“Y-“ Theon stopped, pondered and started again, less angry this time. “Your father? “

“Sometimes. Not nearly as bad as you.” Ramsay shrugged. Then he leaned closer before saying, quietly. “I could take care of it for you. If you want.”

Theon laughed, forgetting any anger he still had left in his mind in favor of it. “You really need to work on your social skills.”

“I’ve been told.” Ramsay muttered, almost questioningly, mind wandering to his old school, the private one he got kicked out of. Whispers of how crazy he was sang across the halls in brilliant forms, though Ramsay was at least _pretty sure_ he wasn’t crazy. His eyes flickered around Theon’s jawline. “You should cover up those bruises at least.”

“I guess I never really thought about it. Nobody’s ever noticed.” Theon looked down at his arms, covered by the long sleeves of his jacket. He supposed Ramsay, weird as he was, did have a point about the fading ones on his face and neck. Theon never really knew when they’d be replaced.

“I noticed. I can't be the first.” Ramsay said simply.

“…Yeah. You noticed. I guess you’re right.” Theon didn’t even know how he’d go about doing that in the slightest, he heard Ramsay reply with a simple “Of course I’m right.” and when Theon looked up to ask how he should cover them, Ramsay was already gone, halfway across the lunchroom, leaving with the other students before Theon had time to process that the bell had rang.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this.  
> Expect an update in 2079.  
> I haven't read through this yet either I've been up for 48 hours sue me if it's awful.


End file.
